


Disguises

by russianwinter013



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gore, Heavy Violence, Masochism, Multi, Psychological Torture, Psychosomatic Torture, Sadism, Torture, implied interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianwinter013/pseuds/russianwinter013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over. The Autobots have won. The Decepticons are prisoners of war. But as they rot and fume in cells on the newly restored Cybertron, many horrors arise, and the Decepticons begin to wonder if they were wrong when they thought they were worse than the Autobots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Megatron sat crouched, snarling softly. Crimson optics burned in the darkness of his rather large cell, and his back was braced against the slick metal wall behind him. His talons shredded through the thick and scarred floor, one that was meticulously spotless but still held the ghosts of torment that had been the prisoners that had resided in here before the tyrant.

He could not believe that he had been so foolish. He sat there reprimanding himself, contradicting every order he had given on the field and the actions that had been executed as a result. Perhaps if he had done something differently, even the smallest thing, he would not be stuck in this infernal excuse for a prison.

The Autobots had completely taken them by surprise, he hated to admit. Led by the Tyrest Enforcer Ultra Magnus, they had broken through external defenses with a horrific ease and had made their way through the airborne warship and deep into the massive fortress. After the threat of the Vehicon battalions was taken care of, they had all split off into teams and destroyed segments of the fortress, one by one, until only the main force in the center remained.

There, Optimus and his best warriors had confronted Megatron and his own army.

Energon had been spilled. Codes of protection and the motto  _all life is sacred_ were broken.

The Autobots had been destructive to the extreme, and they fought relentlessly for a long amount of time.

It had resulted in the capture of their sworn enemies.

They had not been imprisoned together. Megatron was in the largest cell, the Seekers were separated enough to put strain on their trine bond. Soundwave was in a special cell that blocked his telepathy and disabled his cassettes.

It almost surprised him how much effort had been put into the task of merely separating them.

The brig door hissed open, and two mechs entered, one with large wings raised high behind him and the other with a large sword resting in a sheathe connected to the mech's back. Once they were in the light, the warlord recognized them as Rodimus, the former Prime, and the defector that had worked with Turmoil, Deadlock...or as he was known now, Drift.

The young Prime was scowling down at the silver mech shackled to the floor, the broad expanse of his wingspan spread wide. His slanted, exotic blue optics were narrowed in clear disgust as he tapped his taloned digits against the armor of his crossed servos. For someone so young, Megatron had to admit that he had a powerful and attractive frame, and he knew that Rodimus knew that. It was shown in the way he carried himself, and in the arrogant smirk that he constantly wore. His confidence was only increased by the fact that he was the son of the legendary Optimus Prime.

Behind him, the larger frame of the triple changer loomed. The dim lighting reflected off of his pure white armor, and his own wings were seemingly blanketed in the shadows of the massive sheathe connected to his back. His optics, once a cruel and spark-piercing crimson, were now a shade of burned amber, burning as dangerously bright as that of the tyrant.

Megatron bared pointed dentia, narrowing his optics. "What do you want?" His dark armor shifted over his frame in rippling waves.

Rodimus laughed, a deep and rich sound that reverberated throughout the room. "What do you think, Megs? We were sent to interrogate you."

The warlord chuckled, optics flashing as he bared razor dentia. "You truly believe that you will get anything from me? You must be mistaken."

Golden optics narrowed, darkening as they locked on to the imprisoned mech. "The current Prime believes that we will be able to." Drift's voice was deep and rumbling, yet it revealed no emotion whatsoever.

"And you trust the words of Optimus?" The enormous mech let out a booming laugh, condescension clear in the powerful sound. "You would trust the words of the very mech who let these poor excuses for mechs and femmes beat you when you were suspected of being a traitor?"

The former assassin growled, engines rumbling as he flicked his wings. "Your words would be more suited for the heeled glitch that you call a second in command."

Megatron's crimson glare flashed with an unreadable emotion before he leaned back against the cell wall. "You are stalling. What do you intent to do with me? Question me into submission?"

Rodimus grinned darkly at the large mech's statement, wings twitching high above him. "Oh, no, my dear Megs." He kept a steady glare fixed on the Decepticon warmonger as he entered an open command into the keypad of the cell.

"We intend to take the answers we want from you...whether you like it or not."

Megatron laughed deeply, mouthplates splitting into a horrific impression of a grin. "I would love to see you try, Rodimus. You are as soft sparked as your sire."

To his surprise, the young mech laughed, shaking his helm as if in disappointment. "No, my dear warlord. You fail to understand." He turned and grinned at the triple changer beside him, exchanging a silent confirmation before turning back to the chained mech. "I will not be interrogating you. The lovely Drift will be." Rodimus retreated into the shadows, optics a beacon of cruel light as he continued to keep his unsettling glare and that infuriating slag-eating grin. "And you know of the stories, don't you? About what Drift used to be?"

Faceplate revealing no emotion, Megatron resisted the urge to roll his optics. "There is nothing you can do that I cannot withstand."

Rodimus' grin was starting to become feral. "Oh, really? Well, then." He seemed to contemplate something before speaking once again. "Perhaps you have heard of the incident in Garrus-9, or the massacre of Styx?" With a sweep of a clawed hand he waved at the silent white mech. "All the work of my friend here."

Megatron scoffed, resettling his thick and battle-scarred armor. "A mere act of drawing attention to attract my former self." He narrowed his optics, tilting his helm. "What of it?"

The Prime's son examined his claws in a manner similar to that of a certain cherry red narcissist. "Oh, nothing, really. But there is just the fact that my friend here fights for that power. An eternal battle, all solar and stellar cycle, just to maintain the beast he once was." Cobalt optics burned as they carved their way into the crouched mech. "Poor Drift is so, so hungry. And you, my dear mech," he snarled, suddenly behind the warlord, "Would make for an excellent meal."

Drift rumbled behind him, a servo wandering down to caress the secondary set of wings of his teammate. The former Prime moaned, the appendages arching into the touch. Grinning dangerously, the orange and crimson mech glared down at the shackled mech.

"My partner grows ever hungrier, Megs. You're so  _big,_ too..." A giggle escaped the slim mech. "Oh...you will make such an _excellent_ meal. Won't he, my love?"

Drift bared his fangs, molten amber optics flashing crimson as he stared impassively at the silver mech. Some strange, violent emotion burned deep within the searing depths of the former Decepticon's glare, and Megatron felt the slightest bit of unwanted caution rise deep within him.

Megatron scowled, electromagnetic field flaring and colliding with the other mechs. "I was a gladiator in the Pits of Kaon. I was torn limb from limb and still managed to decapitate my opponents. I will tell you again,  _I would love to see you try."_

Rodimus shook his helm again, laughing with a hint of insanity. "Oh, you are so dimwitted, Megs!" Snaking around the broad chassis of the restrained mech, he was suddenly in front of him, straddling his waist between long and slender legs.

Leaning close, the orange mech hissed darkly, a strange sound coming from an Autobot. "We are not going to torture you. We are not going to tear you limb from limb." A strange laugh escaped him as he leaned even closer, nasal ridge to nasal ridge with the snarling silver tyrant. "No, my dear. We are going to  _break_ you like you did our soldiers. Like you did to Perceptor, and all of the others you brutally tortured."

Drift snarled behind him, and then was looming over the both of them, golden optics now burning a vicious scarlet. Pulling the former Prime close, he crushed his mouthplates against his, pressing his pelvic span against that of the smaller mech as he ground his covered array into that of the other. Rodimus moaned, arching against the broad and powerful white chassis as he tilted his helm back to stare and grin eerily at the tyrant.

 _"Yes,_  Megatron. We are going to enjoy this. And let me tell you..."

His optics narrowed as he gave another slag-eating grin.

"We are not the only ones who will have a turn at you and your accomplices."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to get kudos so quickly. :) Thanks to the guest!

The stellar cycle was dark and cool. An almost undetectable chill hung over everything, seeping into the metal world beneath it like water into a patch of soaked earth.

A deep rumble came from far within the darkness, the faint sound of a growling engine. Out of the shadows, a sleek car emerged, the armor covering it a pure white accented with black, gold, and crimson.

Beside the sleek vehicle, another appeared. Its armor was a blinding and pure white, hinted with the slightest bit of chrome.

 _/You have been following me for quite some time./_ A communications link activated, and the larger vehicle spoke in an icy and detached voice.  _/I do not appreciate your actions./_

A rumble came from the other as the white car shuddered, as if he were laughing.  _/Ah, Prowler. Ya don' really appreciate anythin', now, do ya?/_

 _/I am not one to express my feelings, as you know./_ Headlights flashed briefly, illuminating the dark alleyway in a haunted white glow.  _/However, there is a bit of an exception with you./_

 _/Ah knew ya loved meh./_ In a flash, the white car trembled and its plating folded as it transformed into a small and lithe mech.

 _/It is the reason I bonded with you, is it not?/_ As the other mech transformed, two slim but powerful servos wrapped around the white mech's waist, pulling him close.

Jazz grinned, reaching up to trail his digits over his mate's large and powerful wings. "Ya're gettin' bolder with how ya act with meh in public."

"Clearly." Prowl shuddered slightly, pressing his wings into the touch. "Must you always state the obvious?"

The Polyhexian grinned, visor flashing bright. "Wha' can Ah say? It's part o' mah charm."

The Autobot SIC gave a brief laugh before his optics glazed over and he turned away. Before his mate could speak, however, he turned back, faceplate set in the emotionless expression he wore in the presence of the public. "Ironhide just contacted me. He wants us to head to Megatron's cell to make sure Rodimus and Drift are not having too much fun."

"Wait, ya mean ta tell meh tha' the kids got ta go 'fore us?" The TIC narrowed his optics, electromagnetic field rippling in displeasure. "Why?"

Prowl tilted his helm as he stared down at the other, the slightest hints of a smirk beginning to grace his mouthplates. "They must acquire the knowledge of psychosomatic, physical, and psychological torture from somewhere other than the streets." With a flick of his wings, the larger mech transformed back into his alt mode, flashing his headlights at the other. "Come, Jazz. We must be going."

Jazz growled beneath his ventilations, transforming with a heavy vent. "Fine. But Ah'm gonna beat the slag out of the mech who let them go before us."

* * *

As the Praxian and the Polyhexian entered the prisoner complex, they stopped and glanced at each other at the noises they heard.

Vicious snarling, frenzied curses, and heady moans echoed out of the cell of the former tyrant.

Vents flaring, the larger mech flicked his wings in irritation. "Leave it to the young ones to fully take advantage of a situation."

"Can't blame 'em, can we? Ah mean, they learned it from us." Jazz bounded over to the largest and only occupied cell, optics widening as he stared inside. "Prowler, Ah think ya should see this."

The Praxian walked over and leaned down so he was optic level with the cell door. Amber optics narrowing, he frowned slightly and flared his wings. "It is a shame that they made such a mess. It will be all too obvious what they did should anyone decide to watch from the cameras." Straightening, Prowl turned and entered an open command into the keypad, his face slipping back into the emotionless mask he was known for wearing. Before he entered, he glanced back at his mate. "Pardon me for a moment, Jazz. I...need to straighten things out."

Jazz waved his servo almost dismissively, leaning against a wall. "Yeah, Ah know. Ah'll be out here."

The Polyhexian grinned as he watched his mate all but scold the former Prime and the defector. He wished that he could have been inside for him to hear it, but the tone his lover had taken had clearly stated that he wanted complete privacy. Prowl flared his wings, his already intimidating height seeming to increase, and glared pointedly at the two before heading back out.

Jazz pouted, leaning one shoulder against the wall as Prowl towered behind him. "Why did tha kids get ta go first?"

Prowl vented heavily, flicking his wings. "We were ordered to allow them to 'soften Megatron up,' as you would put it. By doing this, he will not expect what we and the others have in store for him."

A crystalline visor flickered at the icy tone of the Praxian. "Ah know tha', but why couldn't we do it? Where's tha harm in tryin'?"

Prowl kept his amber gaze fixed on the cell as he observed the actions of the former Prime and his mate with a dangerous efficiency. "I believe we are not allowed to take advantage of the tyrant first because our methods would be harder to survive from, even for someone like Megatron."

Jazz rocked on his pedes, engine whining before he stopped to stare at his mate. "Really? They can't all be tha' bad, can they?"

A rumble came from the taller mech's engine. "Do refrain yourself from asking such simple-minded questions."

"Ya're really a spoilsport, ya know tha'?" the Polyhexian muttered beneath his ventilations, his armor shifting over his lean frame as air escaped from his manifolds in a rush.

"As you no doubt have to repeatedly point out." The Praxian crossed his servos, tapping his digits against his armor. Manifolds flaring, the larger mech turned and headed down the hall noiselessly with a grace that only a master of Cybertronian martial arts could have. "Come, Jazz. We have matters elsewhere."

Visor flashing in surprise, the white mech groaned and padded after his partner. "But Prowler! Can't we stay and watch the kids mess around with ol' Buckethead, just fer a little bit?"

Prowl vented deeply, fanning his wings. "You will like what I have in store for you even better, my dear."

"Really?" Jazz moved so he was walking backwards in front of the Praxian. "Wha' is it? C'mon, tell me! Please?"

Cold amber optics flashed with a brief warmth as the larger mech placed a hand on the white mech's shoulder panel, wordlessly comforting the restless mech. "Enough. You will find out soon."

The Polyhexian scowled, visor blazing bright. "Ah'm not gonna stop buggin' ya, just so ya know. Ah wanna know now."

Prowl came to a stop, wings fanning the air in long and deliberate motions. Jazz slowed as well, noticing the way his mate's wings were moving. "Prowler?"

A sudden smirk curled back the corner of the second in command's mouthplates. "Tell me, Jazz..." Moving suddenly, too fast for the smaller mech to react, Prowl was looming over the TIC. Having backed him into a wall, he stared down intently, golden optics devoid of all emotion as his wings flared high above them.

Leaning close, he purred into the white mech's audio horn, noticing the way he shuddered at the sensation. Trailing long and slender digits over the armor of his mate's sides, he pulled him closer as he continued his previous statement.

"What is the point of a surprise if the mystery is already solved?"

* * *

Thundercracker sat curled against the smooth metal of his cell's berth, optics shuttered and nonessential systems powered down. Those wretched Autobots had separated him from his trine, so far that he could feel the faint pull and wrench on his spark whenever he attempted to contact Skywarp or Starscream.

Shifting noiselessly, he took in his surroundings. The cell was one of the larger ones to accommodate his size, and there was a rather useless window high in the corner. The cell door was blockaded by thick metal bars and energy that would send a shock through his systems should he decide to touch them. When the Autobots had first captured them, everyone had been put into stasis cuffs, had their weapons systems deactivated, and wings bound if they were capable of flight. Yet for some strange reason, those who were capable of flight had had their cuffs and wing bindings removed after they were imprisoned. Perhaps the Autobots believed that they would go crazy on their own. They probably were thinking that if the Seekers were taunted with the idea of flying they would break down without the Autobots having to lay a digit on them.

Well, it was true for those who were weaker, although there were not many who were.

All in all, the defenses the Autobots had put in his cell were poor, and he could break out if he so desired. But he would let the Autobots have their fun, just for this moment. It would, most likely, be the method of their defeat or even their termination.

With a sudden surge of energy, Thundercracker rose to his pedes, limping over to the cell door. During the battle in Darkmount and the  _Nemesis,_  a stray shot had pierced the armor and stabilizing strut of his left leg, leaving him with a crippling limp that would be a liability should whoever approached him decide to resort to torture.

Snarling softly, he curled his talons against the simple metal bars, scraping light grooves in the industrial material. The hole in his leg was oozing Energon, sizzling against the cold floor.

Flicking his wings, he glared out at the entrance to the private brig he was in, as if he were demanding that whoever was out there would come in and try to hurt him. In his trine, he was considered the brawn - being one of the largest Seekers only assisted the assumption - Thundercracker was also the brains of the group. Starscream merely pretended to be, only because he was the leader. The silver and crimson mech was cunning and deceitful, of that there was no lie, but he reiled upon the absolute completion of his plans.

That was his flaw.

No one would ever execute his plans perfectly except for  _him,_ yet for some reason Starscream never understood that, and that was his problem.

The door to the brig hissed open, and with a vent the Seeker turned to the door.

Prowl and Jazz entered, both with a noiseless grace as they stood side by side, the door swishing shut behind them. Thundercracker noticed the Praxian flare his wings slightly, his amber gaze darkening. The Seeker couldn't really blame him; he had torn of that chatty youngling's wings...what was his name? Ah, yes. Bluestreak.

"What have you two come to bother me about?" the enigmatic Seeker murmured, tracing his talons over the bars of energy with a light hiss. "Don't tell me you are here to bask in the power you believe you have simply because you have captured the main force of the Decepticons?"

Molten crimson optics flickering, he leaned forward with a strange and sudden interest as a dark smirk curled back his mouthplates. "Oh, wait. I know. You're here for revenge, are you not? It's why I am locked in the cell, isn't it? Are you trying to harm me? No, torture me, perhaps?" Long dentia bared in a dangerous imitation of a grin, Thundercracker turned to the Autobot SIC. "Payback for me harming your precious little Bluestreak? Is that what this is?" Not giving him the time to respond, he glanced at the fuming Polyhexian. "Or is this about the time my trinemates captured you for one of their more...extravagant outings?"

"Ah'd shut that slaggin' mouth o' yours before Ah come over there an' do it fer ya!" Jazz bristled with fury, visor blazing bright as he took a step forward.

Thundercracker grinned, tilting his helm. "It seems that I have struck a nerve. What are you going to do about it, little bot? Beg me for me to stop like you did to my mates while I sat back and watched them frag you into the ground?"

Jazz snarled, armor flaring and claws unsheathed as he made to lunge at the Seeker. Before he could, however, the Praxian beside him spoke.

"Enough," Prowl rumbled, his deep baritone echoing throughout the room. Golden optics fixed on the prisoner. "You are not in a position to speak in such a way."

A deep laugh escaped the blue mech. "You will do nothing to me. I can see it in your optics. You are too weak."

To his surprise, the Praxian smirked and flicked his wings in what Thundercracker believed to be arrogance. "Decepticons thrive on making others feel weak. The entirety of your faction has come to be part of the mindset that oppression is better than the expression of being able to take a hit and show that you are defeated." Prowl moved to be behind the snarling white saboteur, tracing his long digits over the mech's audio horns. Thundercracker noticed the cruel grin that passed over the tactician's faceplate, and he bared his dentia in irritation, electromagnetic field flaring in his agitation.

A feeling of unease passed over the Seeker as those burning amber optics bore into his spark.

"We are here to fix that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of the chapters will end this way. Once I get the chapters that are my main focus out of the way, there will be flashbacks describing what the mentioned Autobots did to the prisoners they confronted. These may turn into dark and gory scenes, complete with all the torture types Prowl mentioned above. Have you guys noticed that the chapters are going in order of the pairings listed in the author notes? Don't worry; there will be more than just those four pairings. But you can guess who comes next, right? I may change my mind, however. Do you guys want Knock Out/Wheeljack first or a torture chapter?
> 
> I know I made Jazz a bit childish, but it was necessary...both for the plot and my personal enjoyment. :)
> 
> Also, Thundercracker is my favorite Seeker, but that does not mean I will be nice...


End file.
